


Eldia's Cradle

by Juno_Moonfics



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, LGBTQ Themes, Light BDSM, M/M, Magic, Multi, Oral Sex, Pain, Pining, Romance, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:41:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28975272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juno_Moonfics/pseuds/Juno_Moonfics
Summary: Fate and destiny have never been too kind to him, but now they’re about to get downright brutal.Eren Yeager has always lived his life by a simple set of rules - Water makes things wet, gravity makes them fall, and trouble ignores those who live life with their heads down. However, when an unknown thief breaks into the Grand Keep of Eldia and steals seven cosmic artifacts with untold destructive power, both Celestial and Primal gods alike declare war, and Eren's thrown right in the middle of it when the secret kept from him since birth gets forced into the light...He's one of them.A full-blooded god who isn’t even supposed to exist, and the product of treason which his godly parents went to great lengths to cover up.Now, he will have one year and a day to find and return what was stolen from Eldia, or the entire world will be brought to its knees.
Relationships: Armin Arlert/Eren Yeager, Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss/Ymir, Mikasa Ackerman/Jean Kirstein, Sasha Blouse/Connie Springer (One sided), Sasha Blouse/Niccolo
Comments: 17
Kudos: 30





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please Read!
> 
> Or Don't. I Won't Know.
> 
> Hi. I'm Juno, and this is my first fanfic being published for public consumption. What started as a simple smutty one-shot has spiraled into a 2 year-extensive project that I'm almost certain has left me with some form of permanent brain damage.
> 
> General Notes:  
> All the characters in this work are 18+  
> Several prominent characters are OCs, but the main ensemble is all canon  
> The AU is inspired by many real-world cultures and environments, however, general aesthetics/technology are based on the late American 1800s-1940s (think The Legend of Korra)  
> Please do not repost elsewhere or harass anyone over this fic. I do not want a repeat of 7 Minutes
> 
> WARNING  
> This work contains several mature themes some readers may find disturbing and/or triggering, such as sexual content, gore, violence, alcoholism, verbal and physical abuse (including towards children), religion, and mental illness. Chapters/sections containing said themes will be marked accordingly so that you can skip them if you prefer, as well as detailed T/W at the end of the notes. If you notice any possible triggers I may have missed, please let me know, and it will be updated.
> 
> If you're still reading this, congratulations! Here's some lube to make it easier for how badly I'm about to emotionally fuck you.  
> On behalf of me, my editor, and the local Starbucks - We thoroughly hope you enjoy all of our hard work.
> 
> It was truly a labor of love.

There hadn't been a cloud in the sky on the day of his mother's funeral.

When they lowered the narrow pine box into the ground, the sun continued to blaze in the crystal clear sky above as if completely unaware of the tragedy underway beneath it. This would be one of the few things Eren vividly remembered about this day: how disrespectfully beautiful it was despite the bile burning in the back of his throat. There were only two instances in his short life where he genuinely prayed, and one of them had been that very afternoon when he looked into the heavens and _begged_ for just a single muddy gray cloud - a sign that maybe the gods were as heartbroken as he was. No matter how selfish it sounded, he wanted them to feel what he felt, so that they’d regret watching her die while ignoring his first prayer. 

A neighbor named Alba, who he only knew because he sometimes played with her son, held Eren's hand in a clammy death grip as the coffin sank into the gritty hole. Her mascara-polluted tears left dark gray streaks as they fell, staining her alabaster skin like scars. Her nose had turned red from constantly being buried in tissues. Eren envied those tears. Whether from initial shock or depression coupled with utter disbelief, the boy couldn't even manage a sniffle. There was simply no way that the waxy, emaciated body in the box was the same woman who walked him to school every day and tucked him in to tell stories of the different lands she'd traveled to in her life, and yet, there she was. The very last time he’d ever see Carla Yeager, and the coroner had the audacity to cut her beautiful curtain of coffee-brown hair and dress her in some plain white gown that she wouldn’t be caught dead in.  
_Wait._

Eren rolled his eyes once he noticed the ironic stupidity of the thought. 

The priest finished his sermon (though Eren stopped listening quite a while ago), and lights three large candles on an altar of dried herbs, plum seeds, and a dull black crystal seemingly sucking up all the surrounding light. He says a funny word in another language that everyone in attendance repeats in unison, a melancholy choir of voices reaching out for the dead. Eren doesn't participate.

As the candles burn a dazzling green flame, the priest comes to stand on the other side of him, patting the top of his head with controlled fondness. Without so much as a shred of emotion in his dark eyes, the man tilted Eren’s chin up to straighten his blouse collar. It was a simple gesture, yet his way of reminding the boy to be strong in honor of what remained of his family, which wasn't much. An only child as far as anyone knew with a father that no one had ever seen left little for Eren to hold onto. The only thing he could ever claim of any true value was now lost to him forever.

"Father Thomas, why do bad things happen to innocent people?"  
He honestly didn’t expect an answer, more so just leaving the question in the open to fester, but waits patiently as the priest inhales sharply. It’s as close to surprise as most people got from him. To be fair, Eren had all but gone mute following Carla’s death, not that he was super talkative to begin with. This was the first time Father Thomas had heard the boy’s voice in weeks. 

He considers the question for a moment, stroking his graying beard and stares thoughtfully into the green flames. "Your question assumes that a person could ever be purely good or evil, and I’m afraid it’s a bit more complex than that.” In response to Eren’s silence he adds, “The world requires lady Fate to gaze upon humanity with a blind eye, young one. The ancient gods decreed this law at the dawn of man, and it is so.”

”How deep,” Eren says dryly. “The gods are idiots.” The priest smiled to himself despite Eren's open blasphemy, because while his words were indeed deep and profound, they were lost on the ears of an angry child with no interest in lectures from old men.

A blue robin suddenly landed at the ten-year-old's feet, tilting its head to the side inquisitively as if it couldn't figure out what he was doing there. Yellow eyes peered up into green ones and for a moment, just a single moment, Eren forgot about the lifetime of absolute misery and loss that awaited him. It was almost like the small creature had granted him a sliver of peace, however brief, then chirped delightfully as it flew off just as quickly as it came.

"I'll tell you a well-kept secret that I've learned about the gods in my tenure as the high priest of Vlagos, boy," Father Thomas whispered and looked down at Eren's now wide eyes with more sincerity than he'd shown the entire funeral. 

"You are not wrong. In truth, unequal chaos is the backbone of order. If everyone got what they wanted? If everything was fair? Well. What a mess that would turn out to be, _especially_ for the gods." The priest smiles, though it is anything but comforting.

At the end of the service while everyone said their condolences and parting words, Eren sat in the back of the carriage with Alba, still crying softly, and her son Armin. He'd be living with them now that he was technically an orphan as nobody could be bothered to track down his father. It wasn’t a “legal” adoption per se since those took time, most of which he’d be forced to spend in a boy’s home, and money that Alba didn’t have. Eren would never complain, because taking in her dead friend’s kid while trying to raise her own was an immeasurably selfless act, regardless to how she went about it.   
  
Armin says something about having to share his room and Alba pinches his ear, scolding him in another language. Eren ignores them both, instead focusing on Father Thomas’s words to him playing on an endless loop in his mind. Something about chaos, bones, and order. It made sense, but also didn’t and it was frustrating. He didn't know it then, but what the high priest had given him was much more than the fleeting wisdom of an old man to a grieving child who couldn’t appreciate the true meaning. It would be over a decade before he remembered what had been said to him, yet the words would still ring as true in the future as they did then. 

His train of thought is broken by a random old lady knocking on the carriage window to give them another hastily made, crumbly fruit cake. Eren glared at the four cakes neatly stacked beside him, each nastier looking than the last and all he wanted to do was smash them in her wrinkly face. Alba takes it happily, her smile visibly strained and Armin sighs to himself while looking out the window, as if he too would rather shovel shit than eat the old lady’s dry cake. 

After a bunch of last minute goodbyes and half a dozen more poorly made baked goods, the worst day of his life finally came to a rather anticlimactic and boring end.

So why was he still so angry?

He cursed the priest for speaking in dumb riddles he couldn’t understand, he cursed Alba and her son for both their pity and their kindness, the sad stares and awkward hugs from people he'd never met nor would ever see again after today. He wanted to hate them, to _blame_ them, and he couldn’t. Not really. What could they have done? Would it have made a difference? Could _he_ have made a difference, if he weren’t so weak and dependent? 

_Us Yeagers are built to withstand anything,_ His mother would say to him whenever he scraped a knee or chipped a tooth in a fight. _There is a strength in you unlike any other, and it can never be taken away. No matter what._ Of course, she was talking about a few neighborhood bullies and a crooked sidewalk, but this? There was no way he would ever be able to survive this on his own.

Eren’s eyebrows knitted together as he touched his now damp cheek, looking up to make sure the carriage roof wasn’t leaking. The tears he’d been fighting to hold back all this time fell silently and without warning. A hand is then gently placed on his leg, understanding and sympathy overflowing from Armin’s large blue eyes. He offered a soft smile, and the ache in Eren’s chest briefly subsided. When he pulled away a few seconds later, the spot right above Eren’s knee where his hand had rested instantly became uncomfortably cold. 

"It's going to be okay," Armin whispered. "The gods always have a plan."

Well, the moment was nice while it lasted. He audibly ground his teeth to keep from screaming, because the gods were full of utter horse shit. A plan? _Seriously?_ In what universe was watching your mother die a slow, agonizing death part of a grander scheme for the better? The gods of Auran didn't _listen_ to desperate people's prayers, and they certainly didn't _care_ about humanity.Eren believed that now more than ever. Not only did they ignore him begging for his mother’s life, they all but laughed at him for having the gall to ask for a favor during the funeral to ease his grief. Instead they gave him the perfect day to celebrate his world ending.

“How merciful and loving of them,” he spat, ignoring the way Armin’s face falls as he stares at nothing in particular through the window. 

Eren would never know, however, that hours after their carriage had rolled onto the shabby dirt road and away from the cemetery, that the very same second a burly gravedigger plopped the final shovelful of dirt onto Carla Yeager’s grave... the sky opened up.

And it began to rain.


	2. To Pacify or Provoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T/W - Mentions of (safe) prescription drug use and mental illness  
> 

The end of the world starts, of course, on a soggy Monday morning. In retrospect, there's nothing particularly foreboding or odd about a random rainy day in the middle of the year, but the signs are there if you know where to look.

Lightning cracks across the murky sky, jagged tendrils of light threading through the clouds. As rain pelts the cobblestone, a middle-aged man sits at his workbench, delicately tightening the small gears and pins of his latest project. His antique shop sits tightly nestled between a library and pub, the black bricks glistening almost silver in the rain. The shop holds various trinkets and refurbished furniture lined up in large display windows, dozens of shelves, and glass cases with just about any obscure object and collectible you could imagine. The air carries an elegant mix of cinnamon and lacquer, and there isn't a single speck of dust or cobweb in sight. Everything looks brand new despite being hundreds of years old, even the shop owner himself appears decades younger than his actual age.

His long and slender fingers pop another gear into place after spending a tedious amount of time cleaning it with diluted alcohol. Occasionally a flash of light from the storm illuminates the shop, casting a grim shadow over his stern face. He breathes a heavy sigh, chancing a glance at the wooden grandfather clock in the corner of his workstation, then back at his project. It will be another month at least before he's anywhere close to finished, but it will have to do for now.

Right as he begins polishing a thin porcelain figurine, the welcome bell jingles, and the sandy scent of rain washes into the air.

"By the gods! As if Mondays weren't terrible enough!" The man doesn't even have to look up from his work to know who it is.

"You're seven minutes late, Niccolo," he grumbles. Niccolo rolls his eyes while shaking the water out of his hair. "It's pouring. My apartment lobby _flooded._ I could have called in, but I risked commuting in _that_ -" he points outside, "so the least you could do is cut me some slack today, Otis."

Otis looks over his shoulder at Niccolo's faintly annoyed expression. The young man is surprisingly lean and in-shape considering he sits at a desk most of the day, with shaggy ash blonde hair swept back out of his eyes. His newly tanned skin from a summer in Azrion stands out against the white shirt tucked into creased gray slacks. Niccolo has been his assistant and only apprentice for years, and no matter the weather or his health, he faithfully shows up every day at six AM sharp like clockwork. Niccolo hangs his coat by the door and takes a seat at his desk, grabbing a workbook and fountain pen to prepare for daily inventory. A dangerous moment passes where Otis has the thought of telling the poor lad the truth. That today was terrible for a completely different reason than the nasty weather. If there was ever a day to call into work - this is it.

"Still fiddling with that old music box?" Niccolo has his elbow propped up on the desk with his chin in his hand, eyes trained on the half-way assembled music box on Otis's workbench. He lets out a sharp breath and rubs at his temples.

"Unfortunately. While it's on my mind, clear a spot in the window for it, would you? Front and center."

Niccolo considers this, sizing up the window. His eyebrow twitches up in amusement as he glances back at Otis.

"Not a problem, but it's pretty unusual for you to put out unfinished work. Matter of fact, I've _never_ known you to do that." 

"You haven't known me long enough then," Otis snorts.

He brushes some yellow oil over the hinges of the music box's lid. It's simple in design, a delicate yet sturdy blend of brass, wood, and porcelain. The octagonal-shaped lid is decorated with the image of an enormous oak tree carved into the porcelain underneath a thin bubble of resin, trimmed with a thick band of brass. The box itself is made from stained pinewood with various runes Niccolo has never seen before carved into the sides. Otis fixes a metal spoke down in the middle of the box, pushing it up and down with his middle finger to make sure it will move as it should.

Thunder rumbles so loudly wind chimes lazily hanging above Otis's workbench shake to where he raises to take them down. He removes his glasses and stares at the clock again. If he misses his rapidly closing window, they are beyond doomed. Civilians scurry outside in the storm, completely unaware of the danger they're facing. Niccolo too sits at his desk sipping on a canteen of pulpy green juice in ignorance. Otis decides that even though he cares for the boy as he would his own son, he won't saddle him with the truth. He'll face different burdens that would destroy men of weaker constitutions soon enough. _Yes,_ he thinks to himself. Niccolo deserves to enjoy these fleeting moments of peace. It's the least he could do for him. Otis's eyes drop to the figurine next to the music box. Guilt washes over him before he steels himself.

"Strauss," he says flatly. 

Niccolo looks up from under his eyelashes. Otis rarely, if _ever_ , addressed him by his last name. "Yes, sir?"

Otis allows himself a small smile. "Would you go in the back and make me a cup of coffee? Strong, please. No sugar."

Niccolo nods a few times before letting out a quiet yawn and heading into the makeshift kitchen, measuring out the coffee grounds and setting a pot of water on the hotplate to boil.

Otis mutters to himself, cursing at the gods for their incompetence. He'll probably regret that later, and the sky rumbles in agreement. Otis holds his breath, carefully attaching the figurine to a narrow metal spoke before snapping both firmly into place down in the music box. He spins it a few times to make sure it will not fall or bend the spokes. Provided he had the time - he could have built an entire rig system to make the figurine appear to float in mid-air, but that would take weeks.

Otis has minutes.

He gives the music box one last once over and a tune-up then waits anxiously for the clock to strike six thirty-three. With Niccolo distracted in the kitchen, Otis winds the brass key on the bottom of the box and watches the figurine spin as a serene melody floods out into the room and seeps into his bones. The world slows, just a bit, even Niccolo's fumbling in the kitchen comes to a halt as the notes echo through the shop. Otis hums the tune under his breath, counting each tick of the clock. It's strange, knowing the world is hurtling towards its destruction and yet surrounded by a wave of calm. The situation is out of his hands now, regardless. His pale eyes watch the sky darken in protest as if the heavens themselves are now aware of his treason.

"You said I couldn't stop it," he murmurs as the song grows in volume and intensity. Lightning cracks dangerously close in warning, but the deed is done. Otis stares defiantly at the clouds. "You never said I couldn't give them a fair chance."

About twenty miles south in one of the many rural districts of Vlagos, a young man wakes in bed with a start, beads of sweat cooling against his skin. It feels like he's been fighting in his sleep, sore with the lingering ache in his muscles. His legs swing over the bed and he groggily pads to the window on the other side of the room. He opens the rusty metal shutters just enough for the icy wind to make him shudder while sweeping across the neighborhood. The air carries an unusual scent with it, the familiar odor of damp grass and drain ditches replaced with something sweet and harsh like burnt honey.

A sudden wave of heat slams into him, and the boy stumbles back as the inky sky rips with light - a kaleidoscope of colors bleeding through the clouds. As if a piece of the sky had broken off with the rattle of thunder, a single streak of gold hurtles down and disappears behind the mountains.

The event lasts less than a second.

If he’d blinked even once, he would've missed it. The sky goes back to normal; the rain continues to pour, and the few people lurking around in the streets carry on as if nothing had happened. But the boy stares at the horizon where the light fell, heart hammering in his chest as the last few notes of the strange song are lost to the howling winds.

_Two weeks earlier._

Eren is having a nightmare. 

Okay, _fine._ None of it is _scary,_ at least not by most standards _._ There are no monsters, goblins, or ghouls, no creepy bastards in trench coats chasing him with a knife, but it certainly is not a cupcakes and rainbows type of dream either.

A little boy and his father walk through the sprinkling rain in a city he cannot recognize, but it is unlike anything Eren has ever seen before. Buildings of marble and glass so tall they disappeared high above the thunderclouds, the streets covered with what looked like veins of solid gold. The kid splashes a puddle with his shoe, giggling mischievously to himself. Eren feels like he knows, or rather _should_ know, who the little boy is, except that his brain can’t quite decide on the color of his eyes or the length of his hair. Eren notices finer details of the entire dream are fuzzy and inconsistent as if sitting behind foggy lenses. Not only that, but cities are usually, you know, _loud._ The sound of cars puttering through traffic, a thousand out-of-sync footsteps, someone angrily honking their horn at a stupid pedestrian attempting to jaywalk. But the silence here is eerie: It was like everyone except the kid and his father has vanished. That's his first clue something is wrong, a sentiment the little boy seems to agree with, but is silenced by reassuring words from his father.

“Where are we going?” the child asks with an accent so thick Eren can barely understand the question. The man squeezes his hand and answers in a monotone voice, “we are going to see an old friend of mine.” Eren knows that he’s lying.

The dream fast forwards until they’re standing in the yard of a small one-story house littered with blackened weeds and dry soil crunching like gravel under their feet. Someone boarded up the windows with thick weathered slabs of wood that read “STAY OUT!” in dark red letters that Eren hopes is paint. Sasha had forced him to sit through enough mediocre horror films at the theater to know this probably would not end well, but the man drags his son towards the house, anyway. An owl with white and gold feathers and a chipped beak stares at them from its perch on the gutters.

A lilted laugh out of nowhere breaks through the growing bubble of unease, and he turns, but there’s only a bunch of abandoned streets and wild weeds. Maybe it’s the obvious delirium, but he’s positive someone had been standing behind him laughing.

 _“Eren...”_ a voice coos in a sing-song voice. Okay. _Now,_ this shit feels like a nightmare. The man and his son have disappeared, a faint red glow pouring from cracks in the boarded windows. His heart beats wildly in his ears as a shrill, blood-curdling shriek wails from somewhere inside the house. Startled by the scream, Eren slips on the waxy grass and falls backward, looking up just in time to watch the owl leap from the gutters and aim razor-sharp talons right at his throat.

_BANG, BANG, BANG!_

Eren jolts awake at the sound of someone beating on the bathroom door. Behind it, there's a muffled gurgle that sounds a lot like Sasha. “YEAGER!” the voice says. “I swear to the gods, naked or not - I will drag you out of there by your earlobes!”

Definitely Sasha.

He opens his mouth, most likely to tell her to piss off, and starts choking on water.

Wait. What?

A stream of bubbles escaping his nose confirms the worst. Did he seriously fall asleep in the _bathtub?_ Yeah, Eren's passed out in compromising positions before, like when he took it upon himself to run fabric through the heating press at work and nearly lost a hand, but an early morning nap while drowning is an all-time low. A deep burning ache blooms under his ribcage as he attempts to pull himself up out of the water, but an invisible weight pressed down on his chest demands that he stays put as if not quite finished with him.

“Dude, I’m counting to three and then busting in there like you’ve got warrants,” Sasha warns. “One. Two. Thr-”

The pressure finally shifts and he's able to break the surface, inhaling deep breaths of warm air. “WAIT! SHIT- G-give me a minute, okay?” Eren yells as water chokes up out of his lungs. The water in the metal washtub has gone cold, and Eren's hands have become pruned and pale. Gods, how long had he been under there? It couldn't have been more than a minute or two, right? He takes a moment to catch his breath, ignoring the silly urge to check the sides of his neck for the miraculous growth of gills.

Eren counts to eight before relief at the sound of Sasha's irritated footsteps fading away washes over him. Having his sister break in on him buck ass naked was _not_ something he wanted to experience today. While he, Sasha, and Armin were plenty used to seeing each other partially or fully nude after nine years under the same roof and only one bathroom, he still values what little privacy he can get. To be fair neither of them are actually blood-related. Sasha and Eren are technically just houseguests since by the time anyone figured out that Alba was illegally housing two gangly little orphans they were already grown. She never complained about having two extra mouths to feed as a single mom, nor did she make them feel like intrusive strangers. Whether they shared blood or not - Alba was their mother, this was their home, and Eren had grown content with that.

A large black bird suddenly squawks outside the frosted window and Eren nearly shits himself. It leaves little pecking marks on the glass as if trying to get his attention. The silhouette of the creature looks familiar, and Eren can't shake the feeling something is wrong. You know, besides almost drowning in two feet of water while asleep, of course. Sleep. Wait a minute. Wasn't there a freaky bird in his dream, too? Maybe, but the second he tries to remember details, they slip from him one by one until he can't remember having the dream at all. He blinks.

What the fuck was he thinking about birds for, again?

Eren exhales and splashes his face with the cold water. "I'm losing my fucking mind."

Once out of the tub, he quickly drains and cleans it. While wrapping a towel around his waist, he glimpses himself in the mirror and frowns. Deep purple rings sit underneath his eyes, and the rest of his skin is a shade paler than normal. It's not his best look, but Eren is _far_ from unattractive and _very_ aware of it. His boss scolded him at least twice a day for flirting with the women who came into the shop, and even more so when he flirted with the men. Barron, his co-worker, sometimes gave him shit over his preferences, but hey, he likes what he likes. Sometimes it’s a blushing debutante with dark skin in a low-cut dress, and other times he’ll shoot his shot at a six-foot-four beefcake with tattoos. If he felt particularly adventurous that day... he went for both at the same time.

Water drips onto Eren's nose, and he rubs the dampened ends of his hair between his fingers. Somehow the length made him look older. He can never bother to keep it neatly cut anymore, and the dark brown locks had grown about four inches past his collarbones. A few stubborn strands come undone as he ties half of it up into a loose knot to keep it out of his face, but it still looks decent. While digging for toothpaste in the medicine cabinet, he picks up a familiar white bottle with his name scrawled over the label. He dumps two of the little red tablets onto his hand. Half of his brain screams just put on his big girl pants and take the damn pills, but the other stubborn half (the half he listens to more) says to flush them down the toilet.

 _You know what they do to you when you take them,_ one voice whispers.

 _You know what will happen if you don't,_ the other hisses back.

Eren works his jaw, staring at himself in the mirror. He didn't like who he was while medicated, but the person he became without them was far too unpredictable to let loose. If his late mother were still here, she would want him to be the best, most dependable version of himself.

He swallows the pills.

"Washroom is all yours, Sas-" he calls while opening the door, but Sasha cuts him off and hurriedly waddles by with a sour expression. A menacing glare is the last thing he sees before the door slams shut. Well, that explains why she was so mad at him for hogging the bathroom.

He gets dressed in his bedroom, a simple long-sleeved cotton shirt, matching pants, and tall leather boots. For someone who works in a tailor shop, it's ironic that he never cared much for clothes, especially since he could make an old potato sack look like high fashion if he felt like it. Eren tosses the towel and his nightclothes in a hamper, then sneaks into Sasha's room to borrow a little concealer for the dark circles. The last thing he needs is Alba giving him shit about his health again. _Maybe some blush,_ he thinks, since it would bring a little color back to his face, ultimately deciding against it. Knowing Alba, she will think he's flush with fever and do something crazy like wrap a towel full of ice cubes around his head.

As he silently closes the bedroom door, the toilet flushes and Sasha nonchalantly exits the bathroom waving a hand in front of her nose. "WOO-WEE! I would _not_ go in there for a while if ya' know what I'm sayin'." She giggles as if she hasn't left a cloud of fucking mustard gas in there.

"Sasha, what the hell did you even eat last night?" Eren exclaims through a pinched nose. It smells like the worst possible mix of rotten eggs, sewer water, and ten miles of sun-baked roadkill.

"Oh, you know, just three pork chops, a bag of jerky, four bowls of cheesy potato soup, and five slices of garlic bread." She grins and Eren's jaw is on the floor. Sasha's only five-six, maybe a hundred and thirty pounds soaking wet in an overcoat, yet has an appetite like a starving man from the desert who managed to wander into an all you could eat buffet.

"How are you not dead yet?"

"You're asking too many questions before I've had breakfast," she replies with a yawn and stretches her arms behind her head.

"Sleep well last night?"

"Not really," he answers honestly, scratching his neck. "Dreamt I was bald like Connie and woke up screaming." Sasha throws her head back in laughter. It might seem like a mean thing to say, but Connie is a close family friend who sometimes comes over to fuck with Eren (and not so subtly flirty with Sasha), and while he adored the little jerk, never in a million years would he swap hairstyles with him. He’s the only person Eren knows who could pull off a buzz cut and still have a shred of their dignity left.

"By the way," she says in between giggles, "why were you in my room? Snooping through my diary?"

Eren doesn't miss a beat and only shrugs. "Nah, I ran out of hair ties."

He almost gets away with the lie, except she could tell something was off about him lately. He’s about to crack another stupid joke when Sasha reaches out and drags a thumb underneath his right eye. The concealer smudges to reveal the telling dark circles below, and she exhales deeply. Eren squashes down the guilt starting to swirl in his gut.

_Ah, shit. Here we go._

"Have you been taking the medicine Dr. Füer gave you?" Sasha asks flatly. When he doesn't respond and instead finds an interesting spot on the wall to stare at, she angrily smacks his shoulder. _"Eren!"_

"Don't get your ponytail twisted into a knot! You know they make me tired, but yes. I'm taking them."

"That's why you're supposed to take them at night, dummy," she says with a sigh, "for your anxiety."

"My anxiety is just fine, thank you very much."

It’s a lie and not a very good one at that, but Eren can deal with his issues on his own accord. He doesn't like having people in his business when it comes to his mental health, and he certainly doesn’t need to be chastised like a child for not doing their chores. The muscles in his face twitch as he struggles to control his rising temper, reminding himself that the side effects of the medication include shit like frequent mood swings, so Eren isn't nearly as pissed as he's acting. Sasha has every right to be concerned, especially since he's gone off the reserve before. That memory is quickly locked away deep in his subconscious where it came from. Everybody has their skeletons in the closet, sure, but Eren owns a whole graveyard and prefers to keep it buried. 

She grabs his shoulder and leans in close, voice dropping to a whisper. "I hope for your sake you're telling the truth because If I find out you're not taking those pills, Eren -"

He slaps her hand away, rage boiling in his chest. "You'll what, Sasha? Tattle on me like when we were little kids? Put me in time out? I said _I'm fine._ " The growing irritation is clear in his voice. He doesn't want to fight with her over this, but Eren hates the fact that ever since he was put onto them as a kid, he seemingly can't go five freaking minutes without someone reminding him that he can't fully function on his own without being damn near sedated. 

She crosses her arms as Alba calls them down for breakfast, and despite knowing he should just let this be the end of the conversation, he stokes the flames by adding, "You know we are not kids anymore, right? That whole overbearing sister thing got old years ago."

Her eyes narrow. She shoves past him and heads downstairs, stopping midway to look over her shoulder. "I'm going to believe you because I love you and would like to think that you know better - " her brown eyes are pleading, "please don't make me regret it." 

Eren doesn't respond and curses to himself once Sasha's out of earshot, determined to prevent anyone from discovering that he was sicker than he let on. Several warning signs of a breakdown were gradually creeping up on him lately, and If this morning was any indication, he needs to increase the dosage of his medicine again as soon as possible. Over the past several years following his mother's passing, whatever's going on inside his brain is happening faster, and the more potent the medicine - the worse the side effects become.

Eren ends up standing in front of the bathroom mirror again, swallowing two extra pills for good measure because he knows that no matter how hard he fights, there's always going to be something in that pile of bones battling against him that's stronger. A hand travels down his abdomen to the jagged, ugly scar sitting just above the left side of his hip. He'll do whatever it takes to keep it from ever getting out again no matter what the cost.

That was a lesson he learned the hard way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T/W - Mentions of (safe) prescription drug use and mental illness  
> \- Eren struggles with whether take his prescription medication or flush it down the toilet  
> \- Alludes to Eren's anxiety and personality disorder as well as destructive behaviors while not on his medication


	3. Omen of Gluttony

Breakfast is awkward as hell.

An unaddressed elephant in the room, laughing at a funeral, just waved at someone who wasn't actually waving at you type of awkward.

Eren comes into the kitchen after fixing the concealer underneath his eye. Sasha already sits at the table with a curious and knowing glare aimed in his direction while chewing on a strip of bacon. Alba pulls out a large baking sheet of golden pastries from the oven, and neither he nor Sasha says anything about what happened upstairs. It's an unspoken rule not to start fights in front of her, as unseasoned food and unbridled conflict are among the few things deemed intolerable and not necessarily in that order.

Fine lines crinkle out from the corners of her blue eyes as she smiles up at him. Eren grins back, planting a kiss on her cheek as he did every morning. 

"Good morning, _iinjhe,_ " Alba says in her fading Otæian accent. The word means "beloved" or "divine," depending on the context. Living with the Arlerts, he picked up a few words in Otæian here and there, mostly terms of endearment from her and the occasional swear from Armin whenever Eren pissed him off.

"Mornin'. Do you want some help with that?" He nods to the mess of leftover flour, dough, and sweet-smelling filling on the counter. She shakes her head, wiping her hands off on the apron tied around her waist.

"Always so sweet. But no, I'm almost done. Go ahead and sit down, and I'll fix you a plate in a minute." Alba flashes another warm smile, and the guilt weighing in his gut grows heavier. It kills him to lie to her, but she had no idea what was really going on in his head. No one did. Not even Eren sometimes, and Sasha was right that it's best to leave her out of whatever crap he's going through. 

Abla hands him his breakfast along with an extra plate as the back door abruptly swings open. A familiar buzzed head walks in, dramatically sniffing the air like a loose bloodhound. Unannounced visits are almost an everyday occurrence with Connie ever since he discovered Alba's love and talent for cooking, which is partly why he and Sasha got along so well. They both had bottomless pits for stomachs.

"WOO! Something smells _damn_ good in here, Miss A!"

He flinches when she playfully slaps him with a dishtowel. "You know better than to come in here with a potty mouth, Connie. You're not too old for me to wash it out with soap."

"Haha, sorry about that." He unceremoniously takes a seat next to Sasha after removing his straw hat, setting it on the back of the chair. Eren can't remember a single time since his father gave it to him that he's seen Connie without the old, tattered thing, which he carries like it's woven from solid gold. Sasha asks about the rosy tint coloring his cheeks, and he chalks it up to getting flushed from the heat while walking, which is utter bullshit. Eren sips his coffee to hide the smile on his lips. Connie only blushes like that for one reason, which has nothing to do with the August heat and everything to do with a certain gluttonous brunette.

"Wassup Yeager-bomb?" Eren replies with a grunt, sliding over the extra plate of bacon, red pepper and mushroom omelet, and cinnamon-apple rolls fresh from the oven. The impatient growl from his stomach doesn't go unnoticed as he wastes no time wolfing down the meal.

"By the way," Alba says, drizzling tablespoons of honey over the rolls she'd just made. "Sasha said you locked yourself in the bathroom for almost two hours this morning. What were you doing in there?"

Eren bites his lip, "I..." and stalls.

In his perspective, only a few minutes had passed from the time he got in the washtub till waking up to Sasha breaking the door down. The meds also sometimes lead to intense insomnia cycles that could wreak havoc physically and mentally. Most likely, he succumbed to exhaustion and fell asleep long before sinking in the water. There couldn't be any other explanation since remaining submerged underwater for two whole hours without a single breath is impossible. And yet, all the evidence indicates a different story. 

A sharp pulse reverberates through his head making him wince, and it feels as if something is banging on the inside of his skull with a sledgehammer. _That can't be good,_ he thinks. If he wasn't already sitting he might have collapsed on the spot. The pain only lasts a second or two, but it leaves him feeling drained and dizzy. 

_I told you so,_ the voice in his head sings. He makes a mental note to see Dr. Feür as soon as possible.

"Are you going deaf on me now?" Alba jokes, snapping him out of the daze. Eren doesn't answer fast enough, and Connie smirks around a mouthful of bacon. "Oh, come on, cut the kid some slack. You know all the work that should've went into making his brain went into his face."

Eren gives Connie a bored look. "Don't you have _anywhere_ else to be right now? Like your _own_ house, eating your _own_ food, and annoying your _own_ siblings? "

"Can you two please not start competing in stupid this early in the morning?" Sasha's head falls to the table as she lets out an exasperated groan. Connie grins even wider accepting a challenge that apparently nobody else is hip to.

"Maybe he was just spending some quality time with _Mini-Eren._ "

" _Connie Springer!"_ Alba hisses. She mutters something in Otæian akin to _"son of a winged rat"_ or a _"moldy apricot."_ Eren isn't sure."Enough of that. I don't want to hear about what any of you do in private, especially over breakfast."

Sasha raises her hand, voice stifled from having her face smushed into the table. "Ditto."

Connie ignores them both, folding his hands under his chin and squinting as if making some profound observation."It's probably because ol' boy hasn't gotten laid in a few weeks. After all, work's been slow, so he doesn't have anyone to bone." He snickers in Sasha's direction. "I feel bad for you, sleeping in the room right next to that little jackrab- OW!" His sentence is cut off with a yelp when Alba firmly pinches his cheek.

"What did I just say?"

Eren simply keeps eating, determined not to give Connie the satisfaction of a response as Alba starts stuffing some of the leftover rolls into a paper bag. She looks up with pursed lips and a curious expression. "Do you think this is enough?"

Eren tilts his head. "Enough for what?"

Sasha jerks up from the table, eyes lit up like all of a sudden it's Christmas. "Does this mean we get seconds?"

"I will never understand how you aren't the same size as the backside of a barn by now, but no. The rolls are for Eren to bring with him to the shop today." She packs another roll into the bag with an unnaturally straight face. "For Hannes."

All three of them share a knowing glance while fighting the urge to snicker. It's not so much a secret as Alba would like to believe, but she's been nursing a massive crush on Hannes for years now. Considering he spends almost every day with the guy, Eren got the sneaky suspicion that her feelings are _well_ reciprocated. In fact, their mutual pining probably had a lot to do with how he'd gotten hired at the tailor shop in the first place when he didn't know jack shit about tailoring.

Connie takes another bite out of his omelet. "Isn't he diabetic?"

"No, that's Mr. Shaffner with diabetes. Hannes just has high cholesterol and a drinking problem," Eren says absentmindedly. 

"He's been working on that," Alba mumbles with a pout. 

"Oh, I bet. You'd think the poor lad was on death's door as much time he spends with you down at the clinic." Sasha's teasing sends the boys over the edge, and food flies everywhere as they guffaw at the stupefied expression on Alba's reddening face. Hannes never gave much of a hoot about his health until he found out that Alba works at one of the local medic centers, and now he's jogging in the mornings and eating kale unironically. It's adorable, if not maddening, that neither can gather the nerve to make a move. 

Needless to say, they all got a very stern talking-to from Alba in Otæian once their laughter died.

Once she heads to work after breakfast, Connie tries to dial back his excitement when Sasha innocently accepts his offer to help her with errands today. Eren can't help but feel bad for the poor sap, pinning after someone who didn't have an inkling of a clue about his feelings. At least with Alba and Hannes, there's a clear mutual interest. Either Sasha was oblivious or just a very skilled liar. As far as anyone could tell on her side of things, everything read purely platonic. Connie never alluded or talked about it openly, likely to avoid ruining their friendship. Eren couldn't speak for Sasha, and despite acknowledging that Connie's a great guy, his best friend potentially being in a relationship with his little sister still struck him as odd. Not against it, not particularly for it, but somewhere uncomfortably in the middle. That's why he didn't do the whole "dating" thing. It made shit complicated. He also never found anyone interesting enough to justify putting forth that much time or effort. Regardless, he stays out of other people's relationship drama in favor of letting them figure things out on their own.

Connie heads upstairs to use the bathroom while he and Sasha clear the dishes. About a minute later, the phone in the hallway rings. Sasha all but breaks her neck to answer it, practically catapulting herself through the entryway. "I'll get it!" she shouts and picks up the rotary phone on the third ring, but the conversation is hushed. They've been expecting a certain call for days now, but it always ends up being one of Alba's church members asking if she could bring extra snacks to prayer.

With the kitchen cleaned, Eren checks the time and grabs his coat and wallet. It's a twenty-minute walk from the station and another forty-five on the train to the 4th district. If he doesn't leave soon, he'll be forced to wait for the second train that's always packed and smells of unwashed bodies and bad breath.

"Hold on, I'll get him. Yeah, just give me a second - EREN!" Sasha peeps from the doorway. "Phone!"

He raises an eyebrow but doesn't turn around. "Who is it? If it's Hannes, tell him I'm leaving in like the next minute."

When he finally looks back, her arms are folded, and she's smirking like someone waiting for the punchline of a bad joke. Eren's eyes go wide as the understanding of what she's implying hits him. The train, his job, and the strong possibility of getting fired are long forgotten as he bolts to the phone.

"Hello?" He flips Sasha the bird for giggling at how childishly hopeful and enthusiastic he sounds. There's a pause on the other line, and then, _"Eren? Is that you?"_ There's a lot of background noise, and the voice is a bit distorted, but Eren could recognize it wearing earplugs in a crowded room.

"Armin," he breathes. The fact that someone else is in the room doesn't even occur to him. All he thinks about are the billion different questions he wants to ask and gets frustrated that they don't have the time. Instead, he settles for the most obvious one.

"You complete _ass!_ What took you so long to pick up a damn phone?"

The line crackles with Armin's delicate laugh despite the insult. _"I know, I know. The semester just started, and it's been difficult to find time for anything other than studying. Not to mention the school has limits on how many phone calls we can make per term."_

"Up to your ears in homework and lecture notes already, huh?"

_"And then some. Thankfully, I'm more prepared for the coursework this time around. Freshman year, I thought I was going to die during finals!"_

And he's not exaggerating. Armin was entirely out of his element last year and almost dropped out due to the stress but made it through to the end, passing with flying colors. He'd left some weeks ago to start sophomore year at St. Maria Academy, a private boarding school located in Moramire - one of the bustling urban cities in Novium. Moramire, renowned for its academic society, breathtaking culture, and local attractions, is the complete opposite of Vlagos in just about every way. While immensely proud of him for getting accepted into St. Maria, Eren felt equally saddened that one of his best friends was hardly around anymore. If the roles were reversed, he'd want to distance himself from this shithole as much as possible too, so he can't really blame Armin for leaving. He just hated being one of the things left behind.

"Alba's going to hate that she missed your call," he says to distract himself from his dejected thoughts.

_"That's what I'm calling about, actually. A plumbing line burst in two of the science buildings last night, so classes have been postponed until repairs are done. I figured since this weekend is kind of important -"_

Eren cuts him off with a dramatic gasp. "Oh! Is it, really? Huh. Well, what's the occasion? _"_

_"Surely you're joking."_

"I'm really not. Care to enlighten me?" 

Gods, Eren can be such a dick sometimes. Few things supply him with as much serotonin as annoying Armin, like a toddler tapping on a fish tank after repeatedly being told not to. Static stretches from the other line as Armin goes dead silent, and when he does speak, his voice is flat and edged like a razor blade. _"Eren Izaak Yeager, the very_ second _I get home, I am going to kill you in the worst way possible."_

"I'm just fucking with you," he admits with a playfully sadistic grin. "How could I ever forget your birthday, Coconut? I already got a present and planned to drop it off at the port after work today, but if you're coming back this weekend, you just saved me the postage."

Armin responds with a faint laugh. _"You still think you're funny, don't you? I've told you to stop calling me that."_

"Correction, I know I'm funny, and you love me for it."

 _"Don't remind me."_ There's a strange tension behind Armin's response that gets lost on Eren as the conversation continues until Sasha taps him on the shoulder.

"I hate to do this, but If you don't leave like _right now,_ you're going to miss your train, and Hannes will strangle you on sight."

Eren blinks. Train? He checks the time on his watch and curses loudly.

"Armin, listen, I gotta' - "

 _"It's okay. I know I called at a bad time. I'll see you this weekend when I arrive at the port,"_ Armin exhales deeply before adding, _"Try not to get into too much trouble before then, alright? I mean it, Eren!"_ Sasha hands him his wallet and coat, which he shrugs on with the phone still at his ear. What he wouldn't give to call in today.

"No promises, Coconut." 


	4. Gift of Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> T/W - Alluded Homophobia
> 
> Also, I highly suggest you enjoy these last few "happy" chapters because it's all downhill from here on out. I'll give you a moment to have your pitchforks and tissues on standby.

The rest of the week passes by business as usual until the day Armin's supposed to return from Moramire. That's when everything goes to shit. Eren spends most of it stressed beyond all hell despite his rather monotonous and repetitive routine. Why? Because in a moment of sheer stupidity, he'd told Armin that he already had his gift practically wrapped up in a cute little bow waiting for him.

He, in fact, did not.

Before the pitchforks and torches go up, understand that for the past seven months a portion of Eren's weekly pay was put towards Armin's gift. The issue at hand was that by the time he actually saved enough credits to buy it - the damn thing had already been sold. He could've simply gotten a less expensive version, but Armin deserved better than some cheap knockoff that would break within a year.

And so entails Eren's conundrum. He has less than twenty-four hours to find a suitable replacement within his budget, or tell the truth and risk disappointing Armin. Both options make him want to smack his head into the nearest wall, but gets pulled back into reality when a rather handsome customer asks him where the fitting room is. Suddenly remembering that he still has a job to do, Eren politely smiles and points the man in the right direction. He blushes pink at the ears and stutters a thank you before essentially _tripping_ into the fitting room. Eren waits until he's gone to chuckle lightly because, well, fuck. Sometimes he forgets that he has that effect on some people. Unfortunetly the innocent little exchange doesn't go unnoticed by Barron, who all but sneers while sweeping by the front door. Eren brushes it off. He's already annoyed and not in the mood to deal with Barron's poorly masked homophobia or inferiority complex. It's not his fault being attractive meant shit came more easily to him than most, but try telling that to someone who probably hasn't gotten laid since the Stone Age. Not that Eren himself can talk much as he was in his own little dry spell at the moment. However, that could easily be rectified.

As if the goddess of fate herself could hear his perverted little thoughts, a few minutes later the guy exits the fitting room with two suede suits folded over his arms. Eren rings him up, not so subtly leaning over the counter to compliment how good he looks in his tan leather jacket. It's a risky gamble, one that's earned him more than a few black eyes and pointed slurs in the past, yet the man's cheeks burn pink as he fumbles with his wallet. He nervously replies with a cute joke that earns a boyish giggle. Barron watches the entire scene from the corner, expression unreadable. Hannes, their boss, fills out shipping labels at his desk as if blissfully unaware of what's happening.

"Eren, maybe you should spend less time conversating while ringing up our _customers. Y_ ou're already behind your quota for the month _."_ The disgust behind Barron's words is obvious and Eren fights the growing urge to commit a felony. So that's how it's going to be today? Fine.

"You know," Eren hums in thought, "That watch would look amazing with your suits. We just got it in yesterday." He takes it out of the display case and lazily dangles the expensive jewelry off his index finger. The man flushes redder than a poinsettia in December, tugging on his collar like he's having a hot flash.

"Thank you, but I - um... I'm not really one for jewelry - "

"Oh? What a pity..." He sucks his teeth and pouts. Actually _pouts._ "I've always been such a sucker for guys who can accessorize."

Hannes coughs so loudly the man looks over concerned, but Eren waves a hand dismissively.

"Don't mind him. Bad case of smoker's cough. So," his smile is blinding.

"About that watch..."

The whole thing was indeed a little manipulative, but by the end of it not only did he get the guy's number, but he also sold the watch, two blazers, and a porcupine necktie _on top_ of the two suits he already planned on buying. Eren even convinced the poor sap to spend eighty-seven dollars on a bottle of cologne after mentioning teakwood is his favorite fragrance, which it isn't. He actually prefers softer scents like citrus and florals, but hey. Whatever works. Hannes shakes his head, chuckling with both disapproval and amusement.

"You are a dangerous, dangerous man, Eren Yeager," he says with a laugh. "With that sale, I think you've actually exceeded your quota for the month by almost ninety bucks." Barron looks like he wants to snap his neck, and just like that, his day is a little less depressing.

"Great. Maybe I can use the extra to try and salvage my birthday gift to Armin," Eren mumbles.

"You could just give him the money and be done with it?" Hannes plops a stack of plastic-wrapped coat jackets onto the counter and stretches his back, yawning as his bones click into place.

"Yeah, and why don't I tell him to go fuck himself while I'm at it."

"I know, I know. It's a lazy cop-out, but it's not like you have to go all out. You're not sweethearts or anything, right?"

Eren snaps the register shut and presses his lips into a tight line. Of course not. Hannes knows better. Sure, there was a brief moment as a kid when Eren thought he might have a tiny crush on Armin, but that's just because he was sad all the time and Armin was _there._ With his big blue doll eyes and perpetually rosy cheeks and a cute little splattering of freckles across his nose, and - wait a damn minute.

What in the _actual_ _fuck_ is he doing? Those dangerous thoughts are quickly shoved out of his brain as he shakes his head, forcing himself to think about _anything_ else.

"No, but..."

"But?"

Eren inhales deeply as if what he's about to say pains him. 

"I've never been in a position to give anyone anything better than the bare minimum. Armin's working his ass off at that school and, I want to give him something worthy of that. You think I'm being paranoid, don't you?" He runs a hand through his hair, wishing he hadn't lost the scrunchie that he stole - ahem - _borrowed_ from Sasha. His hair could be such a freaking nuisance sometimes.

Hannes rubs at his shoulder. "Not at all. I get what you mean. Actually, I might be able to help you out."

Eren perks up. "Really? How?"

"Well, when I remodeled the shop after that tornado blew threw here a few years ago, I was still piss-pot broke so getting furniture and equipment off the shelf? Outta' the question. A buddy of mine recommended this old antique place out on Havel Road," he points Eastward. "At first, I thought it would be a wasted trip cause' what am I supposed to do with a bunch of old, musty antique bobbleheads or whatever, but I was _very_ wrong. Anything you're looking for? It's there and for half the retail market price. I'm sure you'd be able to find another -" he pauses. "What is it you want to get him, again?"

"A nautical telescope. The collapsible kind you can carry with you. " Eren shrinks in on himself a little like he's embarrassed to admit it.

Hannes whistles. "Wow. Hell of a birthday present. But ain't he going to school to study the ocean? Why a telescope?"

"Armin's kind of a Jack of all trades when it comes to this nerdy stuff. He's always wanted one, but the kind that cost an arm and half your liver." He lets his head hit the counter with a sullen thud. "I don't suppose this antique shop of yours has anything like that, does it?"

"Can't say for sure. After all, I wasn't exactly looking for nothin' fancy like that."

Well. It can't hurt to take a look around, can it?

"I'm out of options, so I'll give it a look. Do you have the address? I'll head out early tomorrow morning before Armin's ship docks."

"Sorry, sport. It's closed on the weekends. On weekdays I think they're open until four."

Barron, who up until this point had been too busy stewing in self-loathing to chime in, suddenly guffaws, an ugly clipped sound like a pig being lead off to slaughter. "And you're closing tonight, Yeager. Damn. Sure sucks for you and your little geeky boyfriend!"

"He is _not_ my boyfriend, and if you ever say some shit like that to me about him again, I will take that broom and shove it up your long-back iron-board ass! I'm sure that would _suck_ too."

"Alright, that's enough of that you two!" 

Hannes sends Barron out on an early cigarette break leaving him and Eren alone in the shop, and the gloomy look on the boy's face makes his heart sink with pity. _This poor, sweet bastard,_ he thinks. Love is hard when you're young, but especially when you can't recognize it staring at you right in the face.

"Tell you what, I'll let you clock out for a bit to go check it out. You won't get paid while you're gone, but if you can't find the telescope, I'm sure there's something else the kid would like."

Eren's jaw hits the floor. This is a trap. Right? Hannes just needs an excuse to fire him for flirting with customers and slacking because there's no way he would just _let_ him fuck off for hours. Especially not for a freaking telescope.

"I'm getting the feeling there's a catch in here someone where that's going to leave me unemployed..."

"Sorry to burst your bubble, kiddo. This is a one-time deal, but I may have ulterior motives." He turns and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "I was hoping I could get your blessing to, _you know,_ with Alba. I've been thinking off, erm, possibly askin' her to dinner..." Hannes's entire face starts looking a hell of a lot like a tomato.

"As a thank you for the rolls last week, of course! Nothing shiesty!" He waves his hands in the air defensively. Eren blinks twice before nearly falling over from holding his stomach while laughing.

The older man's face falls. "I'll take that as a no..."

"What? No, I-" He struggles to regain his composure before adding, "I never said you couldn't, just the fact that you felt the need to _bribe_ me. If you want to ask her out, you could've just done it." Eren smiles genuinely. "I'm pretty sure she'd be okay with it."

"But are _you_ okay with it? She may not have had you, but that's still your mama. I don't want to overstep."

"Trust me, I'm good with it. It's about time Alba gets out of the house and lived a little anyway."

***

After clocking out and a fifteen-minute or so walk later, Eren arrives outside a small brick shop perfectly matching Hannes's description. The paint on the wooden sign is weathered away almost to the point that the writing is illegible, but he manages to make out the important bits.

A bell chimes as he walks in and immediately relaxes as a strange feeling surrounds him. It's jarring but not uncomfortable, like being introduced to an old family member you never realized you had.

"Welcome to Havel Rose Antiques. How can I assist you?" There's a rustling noise as a young man steps out from behind the front desk, wiping his hands on a towel. He's tall with sharp features and pale blonde curls messily tossed around his head. Weirdly enough, the guy kind of reminds him of someone. When he tries to remember, his head begins pounding and he leans against a nearby shelf to keep from falling to the ground. The blonde drops the towel and starts to walk over, but Eren stops him.

"Are you alright?"

"Huh? Oh! Yeah, no. I'm fine! Just dehydrated."

 _Do you ever get sick of lying?_ The voice in his head hisses.

"Are you sure? You look so pale... Wait here, I'll go get you water from the kitchen."

Eren tilts his head to the side as the clerk darts into another room behind a red curtain. "You have a kitchen in here?"

"More like a glorified storeroom," a deep voice chuckles from behind. He turns to be greeted by a middle-aged man with a thick graying beard and a black top hat. Who the hell wears a hat like that indoors? The man studies him carefully as if he's been handed some random puzzle piece and now must decide where it goes. His silver eyes twinkle in the dim light, and for a split second Eren could've sworn they flashed purple.

"You'll have to excuse Niccolo. He's a bit of a worrywart, that one." He sets a small box down on a random shelf beside a crate of creepy nesting dolls.

"Can I help you find something in particular, young man?"

Eren swallows audibly, unsure why his brain has ceased functioning.

"I. Um. Telescope. My boss said you might have one."

He raises an eyebrow. "Your boss?"

"Hannes Guilard. Owns a tailor shop on Clifford." 

The man strokes his beard in thought. "Ah, yes! The tailor. I remember him quite well. Interesting fellow. Now, a telescope, you say? As a matter of fact, we have several. Third shelf to your right."

He grins. "Since it's a rather special gift, we'll ring it up for half price."

Everything freezes and Eren involuntarily backs up a step."How... How did you know...?"

The old man shrugs. "Guilard and I remain in touch after I helped refurbish his shop. I consider him a good friend of mine. He actually called about ten minutes ago to let me know you were coming." Of course. That makes a hell of a lot more sense than this dude being able to read minds or something. 

_You do know that paranoia's a symptom of your meds failing, right?_ Eren tries to not be bothered by the way the voice in his head is suddenly louder and sharper than normal.

"Oh. I mean, cool? Thanks, I guess, Mr....ah....?"

He grins and removes his hat, holding it to his chest in a small bow.

"I am Obediah Moorehaven. You may call me Otis."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T/W - Alluded Homophobia  
> \- Eren flirts with a man in front of a co-worker who responds with disgusted mannerisms  
> \- Eren briefly recalls being assaulted verbally/physically for his sexuality but it's not explicit


End file.
